Protection and Late Night Fantasies
by Starr Rose
Summary: Slightly M rated Vincent x Cat fic from before they actually met. When he was watching over her.
1. Chapter 1

I was only able to see her once a year. I only allowed myself to see her once a year, to seek her out and revel in the way she did things. From the way she stirred her coffee (three sugars, one cream), to the way she rolled her eyes at the male cops in her precinct. I'd start my morning on the roof across from wherever she lived and, for an hour or two, I just listened to her sleep, the steady thrumming of her heart, the soft whisper of her breath, and the tiniest whimper she made just before she woke up. I arranged for the day after her mother's death anniversary. The day before was too sad and the day of was too intrusive. But the day after, she slept half an hour longer and pampered herself just a little more.

It was year eight. The year before we actually met and shook hands and I got to hear her say my name. She didn't have a boyfriend at that time and I didn't have to listen to some guy wander around her apartment waking her up. Instead, at seven thirty, her alarm clock started screaming a power ballad and she released that tiny whimper before her hand slammed down on the snooze button. I rose up from laying and peeked over the roof in time to see her roll out of bed. She was a cop. She should have known better than to leave her curtains open, but she didn't and it wasn't like I could tell her to shut them, so I just watched her wander her apartment, disappearing in and out of the bathroom.

I couldn't see her in the bathroom, and I wouldn't have looked if I could have seen, but I could hear her. I could hear the sloshing of the water and an errant giggle that I wished I understood. I sat on the roof with my back to her apartment and my eyes shut tight, imagining what it would be like to watch the bubbles slide off of her tight, tanned skin. My burner ringing shook me from my auditory daydream.

"Hey, JT," I sighed.

"How's stalking going?"

"She's taking a bath."

He choked and sputtered, "What? You can see her?"

"No!" I denied quickly. "I can hear her."

"Same thing, pervert. Are you coming back early or late this year?"

"Late."

"Right, big guy." I hated the smirk I could hear in JT's voice. I came back early on years she had a boyfriend living with her, late on years she lived alone.

"I saved her life, JT. Now I'm just checking in."

"See, no, this is checking in. This right here. Me calling you, talking for five minutes and then hanging up. What you're doing, the all day following thing, that's stalking, and it's dangerous."

"Your five minutes are up, JT."

I hung up and tuned back into her apartment. She was out of the bathtub and she was drying herself off. I was too far away to smell her but I wanted to so bad. I wanted to know what perfume she used and what kind of body wash. If she'd changed it since the last time I saw her. I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but a few times a year I would happen across the path she took to the precinct. Sometimes, I managed to catch her. Sometimes, I didn't. But I only followed her once a year. I only sought her out once a year. She was getting dressed in her apartment and I knew she would be a few more minutes before she was ready to leave the apartment. I debated sitting on the roof and listening to her some more or going down to her favorite coffee shop and waiting for her there.

It didn't sound like she'd be doing anything else so I climbed down from the roof and went to her coffee shop. I bought her favorite coffee, something I hated pronouncing, and sat at a table in the back. For as badass of a woman she was, she still had a weakness for her overly flavored, complicated coffee. She came in fifteen minutes later, her hair blow dried and lying across her shoulders casually. She teased the barista for a second before she grabbed her coffee and headed towards the door. I stood up quickly and made as if I were casually leaving, not as if I were following her, just so I could intercept her at the door, hold it open for her, breathe in a scent that was a mix of peppermint and some flowery stuff. It was the same as it had been for years. I couldn't wait to catch her when she got done at work, when she smelled like all of her and some sweat.

"Thank you," she said with her warm, inviting smile when I held the door open.

"You're welcome. Have a good day."

"You too." With that, she left the shop. She'd easily forget about her interaction with a stranger in a ball cap. I almost wished she'd come in one day and notice that I ordered her ridiculously complicated drink and she'd ask me about it and we'd talk. But that happened to normal guys and I wasn't one of them.

I climbed buildings so I could follow her without her seeing me. I knew I was a crazy stalker. I didn't need her to know that I was a crazy stalker. Especially not since she would look into me and would realize that a dead man was following her through the streets of New York once a year. She walked to the precinct and I rested on the roof to listen to her work. I listened to her argue with those dicks who always taunted her and her partner. I listened to her argue with her boss and then they went on a run, that I also happened to be on.

Her day was calm, easy. She interviewed some witnesses in a murder, filed paperwork, and then went for a couple drinks with her partner. After which, I followed her home to rest on her roof that time. In the night, it was easier not to be seen. It was easy all of the time, but it was even better at night. I listened to her pour herself a glass of wine. Probably red. She preferred red over white, just like she preferred whiskey over tequila. I listened to her for a while. She drank a couple of glasses of wine, talked on the phone with her father, and undressed to crawl into bed. I climbed partway down the fire escape to listen to her clothes hitting the floor. I didn't look. I never would look. I had an advantage other perverts didn't. I could see in the dark. But that didn't mean I'd use it.

Instead, I just listened to her. I listened to the sheets peel back and her small body slide in between the mattress and the blankets. I listened to her toss and turn for a few moments before she went still. But her heart beat didn't calm. Her breathing didn't settle. She just lay, very , very, very still, and then I heard the first aggravated sigh. I listened curiously.

"Fucking hormones," she snarled into the darkness.

"Hormones," I mouthed.

"Ugh," she growled again. I heard her feet hit the floor and she made her way over to where I knew her dresser was. She dug through one of the drawers and made her way back to the bed, muttering under her breath about a coffee shop dude and why she just needed to get laid.

"Oh, no, no, no," I hissed under my breath. I should have left the fire escape. I should have left her building. But instead, I listened to her climb beneath the sheets and then the buzz started. The tiny, almost nonexistent buzz that tipped me off to what was going on just as the flood of pheromones hit the air.

"Mmmm…" Her voice was light and the buzzing became muffled. I squeezed my eyes tight and grasped at the bars with my hands, doing my best to resist the urge to look. I could only imagine her body rolling at the pleasure of what was happening between her legs. I squeezed my eyes tighter.

I could see me walking into a room with her on the bed, her skin on display for me. I could see me climbing onto the bed, my knee pressed between her thighs and her hands coming up to rest on my face. I could feel the path my hands would take as they slid from her knees to her thighs, up to her hips, to her waist, her breasts, her shoulders, her face, and then to tangle in her hair. I'd pull her up to my face, pull her up to my lips so that I could spread kisses from her temple down to her jaw, to her mouth. I'd explore her, just holding her there so only our mouths were together, promising more than just a kiss. Finally, after I had my fill, I'd move on. Trailing kisses down her jaw to her neck, her chest and her waist, taking one pert nipple in my mouth, then the other. She moaned from her bedroom just as my daydream stretched across her breasts and my pants were suddenly so intensely tight that I couldn't bear it.

She moaned again and I imagined it being from my hands trailing down her stomach, down her hips to dip inside her heat, wet and tight. She was small. I knew she'd be tight. I imagined my mouth following the trail of my hands, kissing her hips, kissing her thighs, moving further towards the center so I could kiss her where she needed it. The little gasps and moans she was releasing fed my lust. I imagined moving back up to her mouth after she came for me again and again. Joining our bodies together and rocking back and forth inside of her.

My hands gripped the fire escape tighter as her breathing sped up. I couldn't keep my hips from moving, rocking gently while I resisted moving my hand where I really needed it. Her heart rate was racing. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't hold on. Then, her breathing stopped, her gasping stopped, her moans stopped, and I worried that something had happened, though I could still hear her erratic heartbeat. Then, she came apart. Her moan filled the air, long and drawn out and guttural and I felt the roar rising in my throat. I felt the ownership tearing me apart from the inside out and I fought it. I took off so quickly that the fire escape rattled behind me.

Back at the safe house, JT was typing busily at his computer. He looked up with one eyebrow raised and commented, "You're back early."

"Don't fucking ask."

"Are you…are you beasting out, dude? Holy shit! What happened?" He stood up quickly and made his way across the room where we kept the tranq gun.

"Don't fucking ask." I snarled again.

"Oh my god, dude, I'm not trying to be on your case or anything but seriously, go take care of that in your room."

I looked down to where JT was pointedly not looking and growled again. "I'd give anything to be able to get laid again."

"Well, stop stalking hot girls and you wouldn't be so frustrated."

I snarled again and made my way to my room.


	2. Chapter 2

I was depraved, deprived, and in desperate need of release. I'd been anxious all day that day, my body humming with need and burning with lust. It was all because of that damn coffee shop guy. It was ridiculous. I rarely reacted that strongly to anyone, even the men that I dated. But a three second interaction with some hot guy in a hat had me craving like crazy. He was a real man. Unlike Jason, the last one I'd brought home with me. He wasn't able to handle me and my job. It intimidated him, made him feel weaker than me, like he wasn't as important. He couldn't handle me being an independent police woman.

But the coffee shop guy, he seemed like the kind of guy who'd be able to handle a woman. So, laying in bed, I couldn't sleep. I was going insane. My body thrummed and ached. I needed help. I needed something more. So I rolled out of bed and stumbled towards my dresser drawer, where I kept my favorite cylinder. The thin green vibrator was light and supposed to feel like flesh. It really felt like moldable plastic, but I was willing to overlook it as I made my way back to my bed. The moon shone softly through my window as I slid beneath the blankets.

I shut my eyes tight and imagined him joining me there at my bed. His long, muscular fingers, his hard, lean torso, that rough growl of a voice. Even with only the words, "You're welcome. Have a good day" in my head, I knew what he'd sound like. Deep, guttural, the kind of voice that'd whisper secrets while his hands traced my curves. I could see him there in those jeans that had hugged him just right and the tight gray t that seemed to cling to every angle of his muscle, of which there was plenty.

"Fucking coffee shop guy," I growled. "I have to get laid soon."

I squeezed my eyes tighter and imagined him there at the end of my bed, slowly pulling his shirt off while he kicked his shoes off as well, nudging them under my bed so it'd be easier to climb onto the bed. I could feel the bed dip beneath his weight. He was a big man, he'd made quite a dip in the bed. I could feel him settle between my legs, settle over top of me, and fit into the cradle of my body. His hands would trace over my body, the pads of those thick fingers hot through the thin cotton of the tank top I wore to bed. His hands would trace up my body, not down like other men. They would brush past the sides of my breasts, leaving promises in their wake, until they settled on my face, cradling it in those rough, calloused palms.

His lips would pass over my face, crossing across my hair line, then down to my cheek bones and my lips. He looked like he would lead with his tongue, passing it over my lips in a soft, gentle arc first before his lips followed, sliding his tongue past my lips and pressing his body down on mine. He'd be a slow kisser, one that took his time and really explored a woman. Kissing me until I groaned in protest and anticipation. His body would press down on my hard, the rough zipper of his blue jeans rubbing against my sleeping shorts. I passed my hands down my body and into my shorts, the vibrator buzzing to life against my clit. I moaned softly and my back arched up.

I imagined him pressing it back down and moving his lips down to my neck, finding my pulse points and nipping at them lightly, caressing them with his tongue. Then, he'd move down further, kissing down my chest until he could pull my shirt up and over my head. His tongue would trace my collar bones and then down to my breasts, suckling on one nipple before moving to the other one. I loved attention to my breasts and the thought drew another long moan out from me. I thought I heard a whimper from outside but it was probably some poor dog trapped in the alley after getting clipped by a car. I ignored it and explored the coffee shop guy further in my mind.

I was lazy in my daydreams. In real life, I explored, I climbed, I conquered. In day dreams, I was the mountain and I was letting coffee shop guy explore me fully. He kissed down my stomach and impatiently yanked the shorts and panties off. He'd had long fingers. I noticed them when he held the door open. Long fingers and rough fingertips. I moaned again at the thought of them dipping inside of me as his mouth came down on my clit. My body shuddered hard and I almost came apart at the feel of the vibrator buzzing on my clit. Finally, I dipped the plastic cylinder inside of me and pressed it upwards onto my g spot.

I imagined him generous and giving, letting my body roll with orgasm after orgasm before he climbed up my body and settled himself between my legs again, his jeans rubbing against the sensitive skin of my thighs. I grunted and I could imagine rolling him over, him letting me because a man that big wouldn't be one I could move without permission or violent force. I'd rip the pants off of him though, not waiting for niceties. I'd take him in my mouth and suck, long and hard, pulling my mouth off the shaft slowly until I released it with a pop. I'd make him squirm a little. I loved the feeling of a man squirming beneath me, barely being able to control himself.

I'd slide back up his body and settle onto him. I hadn't been full in a long time. I hadn't had a real man underneath me in ages. My man cleanse needed to end. It needed to stop before I jumped an actual guy in a coffee shop instead of just imagining jumping a guy in a coffee shop. I pictured riding him, slow at first, grinding on him until I was shaking. Until I couldn't hold it back any longer. Then, I'd lean down and smash my lips to his, my hips still rotating as I fell apart, roaring my release into the empty bedroom.

My back straightened out, collapsing against the mattress again. My body relaxed utterly. I removed my personal play thing from my body and tossed it on the bed beside me. I'd have to move it the next day but it would be fine until I woke up. Before my eyes closed and I let myself be consumed by sleep, I thought I heard the roar of a beast barely muffled. But beasts didn't live in New York and I was half out of my mind anyway. The coffee shop fantasy guy was forgotten when a man I met on the subway took his spot in my daydreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**inspired by the Yolanda episode. (I really hope that's the name, otherwise I'll feel like an idiot.**

Even I couldn't explain what I was doing. If JT had been with me, he would have killed me. He would have wrung my neck himself. But I couldn't help it. One minute, I was just walking along the street, getting out of the warehouse for a little while and trying to breath. It was a few months after her mother's death anniversary. A few months before I was set to meet her. A few months after my near accident on her fire escape. I was walking along, minding my own business, when I smelled it. Her smell. The irresistible, addicting scent of her perfume and shampoo, drawing me off the path I was taking. She was too close to resist. I promised myself I would just stop to see what she was doing.

So I followed her trail around a corner, down three blocks, and around another corner. All in time to see a brightly lit neon sign boasting a nightclub and her in the front of the line with her partner. Her partner was dressed in a glittery dress that looked nice on her but I didn't spare her a second guess. My entire focus was on her. Catherine Chandler. She looked like a goddess. I let myself drink her in, from the crown of her head to the pointed perfect stilettos on her feet.

Her hair was straightened and it was near time for her to get it trimmed again. It was longer than she liked it. Her eyes, her entrancing eyes, were decorated like smoke and her lips were painted the same color red as the wine she loved to drink. The earrings she wore looked like they'd been borrowed from Tess. They were way too long to be her own and fell into what Tess would call 'slutty dangly.' I hated that I'd been watching her enough to know that, but I did and I was worried how far Catherine would take slutty dangly that night.

The dress she was wearing said all the way. It hugged every single curve of her body as if it'd been painted on. The red scrap of material started below her collar bones, was supported by the curve of her breasts, and ended just under where her underwear should have ended. Her legs seemed forever long until they stopped at the pointed black heels that I knew came from Tess. The tall woman admitted to owning heels to seem taller, even though she towered over average sized men. I should have walked away right then and there and left Catherine to meet a one night stand in the club. Somebody who could take her home and have coffee with her in the morning and leave her with a phone number or just a smile or even a regrettable but funny memory. But I didn't. Instead, I got in line, four people away from where she and Tess were giggling.

The big man at the door, the one that was supposed to be intimidating, didn't even card me. He took one look at the scar decorating my face and let me through. On the way in, he muttered, "God, don't make me fucking go after that guy."

A scar intimidated him. No glowing eyes, no extended claws, no tiger teeth. A scar scared that man away from me. I wandered into the club and up to the bar. Once again, I wasn't asked for id. I was handed a beer without a second thought and I stood back to scan the crowd. I found her easily, dancing with Tess off to the side and laughing. She was having fun. She was enjoying herself and I found myself enjoying just watching her. Until Tess caught me.

One moment, I was watching a smile curve across Catherine's lips. The next moment, something told me to pay attention and I tuned in as Tess laughed, "He is staring at you! Go ask him to dance!"

"No! If he wants to dance, he'll come ask me!"

"Come on! You didn't wear slutty dangly for nothing!"

"Tess, we look too hot to ask men to dance. They can come ask us, or we aren't worth it."

It had been too long since a night club and three beers intoxicated me. It had been too long since stupid liquid courage flooded my veins. It had been too long since I was forced to make a split second decision concerning women in dresses that were way too short. So, making sure to keep my scar away from her, I swaggered over to where she and Tess were still dancing and leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "Can I dance with you?"

She whirled around and tottered on the too high heels and I found myself instantaneously worried and thankful for the fruity little drinks she'd been sipping for the hour and a half we'd been in the night club. She wouldn't remember specific details of the night the next day. She would remember a tall man asking her to dance. She wouldn't remember a man with a scar across his cheek.

"I'm going to get a drink!" Tess called over the music. "Embrace the earrings!"

Catherine tilted her head up to grin at me and agreed, "Yeah! I could use a dance!"

Within alcohol fueled seconds, we were out on the dance floor with the back of her body pressed against the front of mine and my hands clutching her hips. She was swaying her hips side to side with the music and I was thankful that there wasn't much I had to do. Then, her hips pressed backwards against mine with more insistency and I lost myself in it for just a few moments. I clutched tighter and her ass ground against the front of my jeans. She tossed her head back against my shoulder and the smell of her hair intoxicated me further. I groaned and it was lost in the music of the club.

My hands developed their own will. They climbed her body, sliding up her waist and then back down while my nose trailed her neck. Her hands climbed her body, sliding up my neck and wrapping themselves around me. Her fingernails trailed my hair and tangled in it. I blamed that night for why I didn't cut my hair for so long. The way her fingertips caressed my scalp with care. The way she purred, "Your hair feels so good."

"You feel so good," I whispered back.

"Your name? What's your name?"

"Ray," I lied quickly. It was the name of a guy who'd been in basic with me, before the experiments.

"It doesn't fit you," she replied and I was worried that she was going to catch me in the lie. But, instead, she turned to face me and the front of her body pressed against mine, leaving my hands to travel her back. Luckily, when she pressed her face into my neck and her tongue traced the shell of my ear, she chose the side without a scar and I nearly made a mess in my jeans.

Suddenly, I was in overload. Everything she'd eaten, touched, and came near that day clung to her skin and invaded my senses. The pure scent of her clouded my mind. My fingertips tightened and dug into her supple flesh. It gave way under my fingers and I was thankful for the shred of control I had left. The shred that allowed me to have human hands instead of beast claws. Every detail of every person on the dance floor was visible in the dark and I wished it was her I was seeing. Her heartbeat rang above the pounding of the music and I attached my focus to it and the shallow pattern of her breathing as her lips traveled down to below my ear, to where my own pulse raced.

I brought one of my hands up to her hair and I tangled my fingers in it. I traced each perfect silky strand and memorized their patterns in my head. I memorized their trails and then forgot them when her legs parted around the thigh I didn't even realize was moving between her legs. The heat of her center pressed on the thin barrier of my jeans made my eyes roll back in my head and I used the grip I had on her hair to tug her head back. My lips passed down her throat and across her collar bones. The groan that escaped her throat ripped through me at the exact same time as the shot of adrenaline did. The exact same time as I felt my eyes change. The exact same time as I felt my heart rate slow down and my thoughts speed up.

"I can't do this," I moaned. "I'm so sorry. You're so amazing. I can't do this."

I untangled my hand from her hair as quickly as possible and unwrapped my arm from her waist as the claws came out. She protested, "No, no!"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Then, I was gone. I was out in the back alley, breathing deeply and trying to regain control. My pulse raced, my heart ached, my jaw readjusted itself and I screamed into the night. Catherine Chandler, the beautiful, amazing Catherine Chandler, was a danger for me to be around, but I would never be able to stay away from her. There was no chance of ever escaping the pull she had on me. The attraction that I wasn't able to resist. But, I would never follow her into a club like that again, I promised myself right then.

Of course, within four months, I broke every single promise I set for myself that night.


End file.
